


content to crash and cling for life

by akisazame



Series: Rethaniel Appreciation Week 2019 [1]
Category: Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, One Shot Collection, Post-Canon, Prompt Fill, Season/Series 04, rethaniel appreciation week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-04-08 00:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akisazame/pseuds/akisazame
Summary: a collection of one-shots for rethaniel appreciation week on tumblr.





	1. kiss me sweet and whisper low

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not usually one for one-shot collections but Rebecca and Nathaniel deserve it. collection title from Under You by Charly Bliss, the ultimate R/N band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 1 - favorite almost kiss. title from Right Here by Betty Who.

It's a little easier to cope with Rebecca showing up drunk on his doorstep when it's her doorstep too.

What does throw him is the fact that she alerts him to her presence by banging on the door; when he finally opens it, bleary-eyed from having fallen asleep on the couch, she nearly nails him in the chest with her shoes, which she's holding in her hand for some reason.

Nathaniel squints at her, not entirely sure he's not still dreaming. "Were you using your shoes to knock on our door?"

"Had to make sure you could hear me." She hooks a finger through the straps of one of her heels and tries to twirl it around, but it promptly clunks to the floor. She looks down at it, offended, and kicks it through the doorway.

"Okay," Nathaniel says, plucking the other shoe from Rebecca's hand before it can meet a similar fate. "Where are your keys?"

She leans against the door frame and suddenly it's like he's seeing her in triplicate: Rebecca, in her black trench coat, making him an offer he couldn't refuse; Rebecca, in her black leather jacket, making him an offer he had to refuse; Rebecca, in the black dress she'd left their apartment in this morning, not seeming to offer anything at all.

"They're in my purse," Rebecca says. She clearly notices the way that his eyes dart around her body, because she quickly follows up. "Which I left at the club. With, um, my keyboard. And my car."

The sleep-fog fades away a little more with each passing second, and as Nathaniel's senses come alive he starts noticing details he should've seen right away: the smell of alcohol on her breath, the slight slur in her speech, the red rims around her eyes. He can't know for certain, since he'd been away in Guatemala for a year, but he thinks this might be the drunkest she's gotten since the night of her backslide, and the complicated feelings from that night rise like bile in the back of his throat.

It doesn't get any better when Rebecca staggers forward and practically throws herself at him, flinging her arms as far as they'll go over his shoulders, trying to claw him down to her natural height, but this time he gives in when she kisses him, feverish and insistent, only breaking away when he finally needs to breathe. She tries to drag him back down again, but instead he catches her cheek in his palm, running his thumb along the space just beneath her eye and pretending he doesn't see the tear tracks there, for her sake. "Didn't get it, huh?"

He knows the answer, of course, because she wouldn't have come home like this if it were anything different, but he's not entirely prepared for the way she just… wilts. "I mean, it was stupid anyway, right? They wanted someone who could sing, like, torch songs or whatever. That's not what I do. I set myself up to fail, so I don't know what I–"

He thinks about kissing her again just to stop her spiral, but instead he slides his thumb down to press against her lips. "Well, screw them. They would've been lucky to have you. Anyone can sing a torch song."

"I can't sing a torch song," Rebecca mumbles against his thumb. "Only torches can sing torch songs. I'm like, a matchstick." She squeezes her eyes shut, grimacing. "Bad analogy. Forget I said that."

The mood is all wrong for teasing her about being a firebug, so Nathaniel takes her advice for once. "Listen," he says, tilting her chin up. "You're gonna find the perfect place to perform. I'll help you find it. Even if I have to build it myself. But first..." He shifts their positions so that he can scoop her into his arms, wincing at her startled squeak. "You're gonna drink a whole glass of water and go right to sleep."

Rebecca curls against him, her breath warm against his neck. "Mmmm, keep talking dirty."


	2. that kind of fever dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 2 - favorite dance. title from Say You Will by Fleetwood Mac, because [DaxAeterna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaxAeterna) is a sap.

Rebecca skips ahead of Nathaniel on the sidewalk leading to the Cameron Park Community Center, her excitement bubbling over into exuberant strides that Nathaniel can't seem to match despite his advantage in leg length. "You realize this is totally unnecessary, right?" he calls after her.

"Of course it's necessary," Rebecca sniffs, spinning on her heel so that she can face him while they walk. Nathaniel jogs up to close the gap between them, hooking his arm through hers and spinning her back around to walk normally again. "I refuse to be the worst dancer at this party. I have to make an impression."

"What my family thinks of you is totally irrelevant. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

Rebecca shoves her shoulder playfully into his upper arm. "To _you,_ maybe. To me, it's extremely relevant. The most relevant possible thing. As such, you and I are going to kick everyone's asses at the tango. Number one tango champions."

Nathaniel steps in front of her to hold the door open, and Rebecca gives him a half-curtsy in response. "There isn't going to be a tango competition at my parents' anniversary party. People barely even dance at these things. They mostly just stand around and drink and pretend to not be miserable. You remember the masquerade, right?"

"Of _course_ I remember the masquerade," Rebecca says, rolling her eyes. "That's, like, the whole reason I want to do this. The only thing that will make another event like that bearable is to show everyone up."

"If that's what you wanted, we could've set our bar a little higher than a community center dance class in West Covina."

Rebecca peers up and down the hallways, then drags Nathaniel along in the appropriate direction. "No way. We are community people. We are giving back to our community. And if West Covina's finest dance teachers aren't good enough for your family, that's too bad for them." She barrels forward to the double doors leading to the gymnasium, then detaches her arm from his so she can hold the door open for him this time, making an exaggerated flourish with her hand as she steps aside to let Nathaniel pass through.

"What happened to number one tang—" Nathaniel's words and feet both stop abruptly in the doorway, and Rebecca spends two fruitless seconds looking at him for answers before following his gaze into the gym.

She's not sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn't this: the entire gymnasium floor is peppered with stacks of hay bales, with a corn stalk or two scattered haphazardly among them; the dance students are clad in gingham and cowboy boots and ten gallon hats; and a balding man in suspenders is attending to an ancient-looking boombox that is blaring the dulcet tones of Brooks & Dunn.

"Oh," Rebecca says. "This... is not a tango class."

"No, it is not." Nathaniel glances at her, a grin curling the side of his face. "You realize what this means, right?"

"Don't you dare."

"You don't get to _ever_ make fun of me for Marty Macaroon again."

"Making fun of you for Marty Macaroon is a time honored tradition," Rebecca declares. "Wow, I sure do know how you felt, though. This _sucks._ " The lines of middle-aged and elderly couples are staring at the two of them, waiting to see if they'll stay or go, and Rebecca gives them a sheepish smile and wave before turning back to Nathaniel. "We can leave. I really did sign up for a tango class, but I must've written the day down wrong. I have the confirmation email saved for sure. I'll explain to the instructor that I messed up and we can come back—"

Nathaniel makes a noise that Rebecca can only describe as a giggle. "Are you kidding? We should definitely stay."

Rebecca narrows her eyes at him. "Now I double know how you feel. You don't actually want to do this, right?"

"Of course I do," Nathaniel says without a moment's hesitation. He grabs Rebecca's hand but she stays rooted in place, still deeply skeptical. "Hey, you know what no one's ever done at a Plimpton anniversary party?" He pantomimes tipping a cowboy hat to her and affects a horrible Texan drawl. "Line dance."


	3. eyes that show kaleidoscopes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 3 - favorite outfits / costume parallel. title from Favourite Colour by Carly Rae Jepsen because now I'M the sap.

Nathaniel slides open the door to his closet to find exactly five button-down shirts and two plaid flannels. "Hey, Rebecca?"

Her voice is distant when she shouts her answer from the spare bedroom they'd set up as her music studio. "Yeah?"

"When was the last time you did laundry?"

"Uh, last weekend? So, three or four days ago, I guess."

Nathaniel frowns at the pathetic collection of shirts. "Okay, so where are all my clothes?"

"In the closet!" Rebecca sounds much closer now, and Nathaniel turns to see her standing in the bedroom doorway, wearing...

He closes the gap between them in three long strides, plucking at the shoulder of her shirt, which is actually his blue plaid flannel. "Your body is not my closet."

"Obviously," Rebecca says. Nathaniel can see each step of her face's transformation: eyes widening, lower lip jutting out, cheeks puffing up. "But I like this shirt. You softened it up for me. And it smells like you." She tilts her head to sniff at the collar. "Well, kinda. Mostly like detergent."

There will always be a part of Nathaniel whose first inclination is to indulge Rebecca in anything, no matter how ridiculous, no matter how impractical, no matter how ill-advised, and that part speaks up loud and clear, squeezing tightly around his heart until it softens and melts. The thing is, she does look very cute in his blue flannel. But before he can give in completely, the last remnant of his practicality reminds him of the sad state of his closet, which does not reflect only one stolen shirt. "So," he says, turning nonchalantly away from her and wriggling free when she tries to grab his arm because it seems like she knows where he's going with this, "if I look in _your_ closet, I'll find—"

Sure enough, when he slides Rebecca's closet door open, he's greeted by at least ten of his own shirts, hung in a completely nonsensical order among Rebecca's wide array of dresses, skirts, blouses, and blazers.

"Interesting," Nathaniel says, turning back towards Rebecca and fixing her with a polite smile.

Rebecca crosses one arm across her stomach to clutch at her own elbow, picking despondently at the loose fabric of her — _his_ — sleeve. "I didn't _mean_ to take so many," Rebecca says, and Nathaniel can't quite pinpoint her level of sincerity based on her tone. "It just kinda happened. You know, like the trickle-down effect, but for shirts."

"That's not how the tri—" Nathaniel blows out a breath, then tries again. "You can't take all my shirts."

"Why not?" she counters. She reaches for him, sliding both hands up and under his t-shirt. "You shouldn't wear shirts. Just, like, as a favor to me."

Nathaniel takes another slow breath, looking up at the ceiling as he fishes for another tactic that doesn't involve forgetting the whole thing and kissing her senseless. He nearly suggests that he steal some of Rebecca's clothes in retaliation, but bites it back when he realizes that will absolutely end with him wearing a skirt, a Harvard t-shirt, or both simultaneously. "I've got an idea," he says, sliding his arms loosely around her waist. "Give me my shirts back, and I'll get you something better."

"Not possible," Rebecca quickly replies. Her hands roam in soothing circles beneath his shirt. "But I can be persuaded."

Two days after said persuading, Nathaniel meets Rebecca at the door after work and leads her into her studio, where a clothing box with a bow on top is waiting on her keyboard bench. "I hope you got my size right this time," she teases as she skips into the room to gleefully open it.

Rebecca spends ten eternal seconds just staring at the contents of the box, and Nathaniel finally moves to stand behind her and peer over her shoulder. "Well?"

As though she'd been waiting for her cue, Rebecca snorts a laugh. "You bought two shirts."

"Two identical shirts," Nathaniel says. "Both in my size, so they're both mine, except one is for you."

Rebecca spins on her heel and shoves him in the chest with both hands, and Nathaniel obediently staggers back even though there was no weight behind it. "You _know_ this isn't the same thing, right?"

"How is it not the same thing?"

She rolls her eyes emphatically, then plucks one shirt from the box and shoves it at him. "Put it on. Imbue it with your _essence._ Then you can get your other shirts back." She grins, impish, infuriatingly charming. "Maybe."


	4. you still mystify and i want to know why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 4 - favorite parallel. title from Cruel to Be Kind, technically by Nick Lowe, though the relevant version is the Letters to Cleo cover, for obvious reasons.

_"So you two are gonna help me tame the wild beast?"_

_"We'll do some research. We'll find out what she likes."_

"Gross," Rebecca says, plucking a kernel of popcorn from the bowl on the floor and tossing it at the TV. She turns her head to look at Nathaniel, who's sprawled out beneath her on the couch. "Remember when you tried that? With my diary? It was not cute."

"Definitely not my finest moment," Nathaniel agrees. "I thought you liked this movie?"

"I do! I just don't like the set-up. Patrick is only pursuing Kat because it's a challenge. He doesn't actually like her."

Nathaniel lifts his head to fix her with a look, jostling Rebecca a little from her precarious perch atop him. "What are you talking about? Of course he likes her."

"He's being paid to date her," Rebecca says, nodding towards the screen, where Joey is now talking to Bianca. "It's not about Kat. It's about setting Bianca up."

"He likes her." Rebecca raises an eyebrow at Nathaniel, surprised by the fervor in his tone. "At least since she backed into Joey's car. Maybe before that, but definitely after. If he were just in it for the money, there would be no reason for him to stay at Bogey's party once she and Bianca got there. He could've just— what?"

"Oh my god." Rebecca flails her limbs as she reaches frantically for the remote so she can pause the movie. "Oh my god," she says again, settling herself over Nathaniel, hands planted on either side of his head. "You've watched this before."

Her proximity to his face means that there's no possible way he can hide the way he goes pink at her scrutiny. "Rebecca, come on, it's not..."

"Nope," she declares, bulldozing directly through his protest. "It's a huge deal. The biggest deal. This completely reframes my entire concept of Nathaniel J. Plimpton the Third, Esquire. When did you watch it? Where did you watch it? Who did you watch it with? Actually, forget that one, I don't want to know. But the other things, tell me. Tell me, tell me, tell me." Nathaniel tries to disengage from her by craning his neck back into his pillow, and Rebecca follows right after, pressing the tip of her nose to his. "Tell meeeeeeee."

"This is so embarrassing for both of us," Nathaniel says, refusing to meet Rebecca's eyes. "Fine. Remember when you started dating Greg after Paula's definitely-not-a-law-school-graduation party?"

Rebecca leans back, wrinkling her nose. "I don't love the way this story is starting."

"I didn't love it while it was happening," he admits, looking properly embarrassed about it. "Which is how I ended up renting several romantic comedies for, uh, research purposes."

She feels terrible as soon as the laugh bubbles out of her, because it's not so different from any number of things she'd done after running into Josh Chan on the New York City sidewalk, and she makes up for it by ad libbing the ending of his story so he doesn't have to. "And among them was the seminal classic, 10 Things I Hate About You." She leans in for a quick kiss, feeling him relax a little bit beneath her as their lips meet. "So where was my dramatic serenade accompanied by marching band?"

Her question had been meant to tease, so she's not surprised when Nathaniel looks flustered. "I, uh... don't think I got that far."

She pulls back, tilting her head quizzically at him. "Huh? But you said you watched it."

"No, I..." Nathaniel pauses, pressing his lips together as he formulates his response. "I watched up to the party, and then I turned it off."

"What?" Rebecca squeaks. "All the best parts are after the party! The serenade, the paintball date, Bianca punching Joey in the face—"

"She punches him in the _face?_ "

"—not to mention the titular poem. Oh my god, you turned it off? Unbelievable. _Why?_ "

"Because..." He trails off again, and Rebecca settles herself back in against him, arms folded on his chest with her chin resting on top. When he speaks again, he's quiet, abashed. "Because it seemed bad, after the party. For both Patrick and Cameron. It seemed like they were doing everything right, but Kat and Bianca still didn't want them. And it was..."

Rebecca's heart twists in her chest. "Relatable?" she prompts.

Nathaniel sighs. "Yeah. So I stopped watching, and tried something else. I had a whole stack of DVDs, but it didn't seem like anything fit." His gaze flickers away, hovering somewhere over her shoulder. "And then I had that weird fantasy daydream. The one I told you about, sort of." Rebecca's confusion must show on her face, because he elaborates, "You know, imagining myself in a recognizable pop culture genre? That's what I meant."

"Oh," Rebecca says. She sort of remembers him saying it, but somehow what she remembers more is how it made her feel, warm and confused and uncomfortably _seen._ She lets herself wonder, for one fleeting moment, how everything might've changed if she'd told Nathaniel about her mind songs right then and there. She's told him since, of course, because she's told everyone in some form or another, but this is the first time she's realized just how well he could've understood. "God," she laughs, "this is like the musical theater thing all over again."

"It's not like I make a habit of it," he says, his lips curling into something resembling a smile for the first time in several minutes.

"Hey, don't knock the weird fantasy daydreams," she teases, tapping his nose with her finger. "You might figure out some stuff. But for now," she retrieves the remote from the floor and presses play, "it's very important that you see Bianca Stratford kick the shit out of Joey Donner."


	5. i'll wave my face like a flag in front of yours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for day 5 - favorite underrated moment. title from Blue Again by Weakened Friends.

"She's not here," AJ says bluntly when Nathaniel walks up to the counter at Rebetzel's.

Nathaniel's attention, which had been wandering around Rebecca's store, snaps to her employee. "Sorry?"

"Oh, pardon me." AJ turns 90 degrees to the side, then turns back to Nathaniel, fake service worker smile plastered on his face. "Good morning! Welcome to Rebetzel's! No, Rebecca is not here. May I take your order?"

Nathaniel sets his briefcase down on the floor at his feet and clears his throat pointedly. "I'm not here to see Rebecca."

AJ fixes Nathaniel with a look that's several degrees of magnitude more judgmental than AJ's baseline judgmental expression. "You expect me to buy that, Mister Tall-Fit-And-Handsome? I've been working here since it was Pretzel Central, and I saw those cups of green sludge you used to bring with you every morning. I bet you'd never known the tender mouthfeel of a bread before Rebecca opened this place."

"That is a lie," Nathaniel lies.

"Admit it," AJ says, voice light and teasing. "You liiiiiiiike her."

"What are we, twelve?"

AJ grins and leans over the register. "You like Rebeccaaaaaaaa."

Nathaniel takes a step back, annoyed both by AJ's proximity and proclamation. It's not as though AJ is wrong, precisely. Nathaniel does like Rebecca. He can barely remember how it felt to not like Rebecca. It's ebbed and flowed and he's dammed it up more than once but it seems like it's always been there, as though the feeling of liking Rebecca was something he was born with and had slept inside him until the moment he met her, bright and brazen and belonging to someone else. He just wishes that it weren't still so obvious to everyone, despite all the effort he's made to rebuild some semblance of a facade. "I'm not dignifying that with a response," he says, belied by the petulance in his tone. "I'll have a coffee and a plain pretzel. With no salt."

"Sir, you have been here every morning for the past month. You know these come pre-salted. The customer is always right but I draw the line at de-salting your pretzel for you. We have had this discussion before." Nathaniel raises an eyebrow and nods towards the display case; AJ raises an eyebrow right back but acquiesces, entering the order into the register before plucking a pretzel from the back of the case and depositing it perfunctorily on a plate. He ducks under the counter for a second, then offers Nathaniel his plated pretzel in one hand and an extremely flimsy-looking plastic knife in the other. "Here, take your salted pretzel and this high-tech professional de-salting instrument."

"Fantastic," Nathaniel says, taking the proffered items and tapping his smart watch on the reader before heading to a table. It's been a nice routine, if he's honest, getting to the building where he works but not properly getting to work right away, letting himself slowly wind up to starting his morning rather than diving in headfirst, the way his father taught him. He's about to head back to the counter to retrieve his coffee, but AJ is already coming around the side and bringing it to the table, so Nathaniel sits, polite words of thanks readied on his tongue until AJ slides into the seat opposite.

"Please," AJ says, "don't let me distract you. You have all that salt to remove, after all."

Nathaniel doesn't especially appreciate the audience, but he begrudgingly picks up the pretzel and the knife. "Don't you have anything better to do than harass your paying customers?"

"Nope!" AJ replies cheerily. "I started the next batch of pretzels a half hour early so that I could devote more time to figuring out your whole deal." He plants his elbow on the table and rests his head in his palm, and Nathaniel doesn't let himself think about how the gesture reminds him of Rebecca. Even if the observation weren't so damning, he gets the feeling that AJ wouldn't appreciate the comparison.

Uncomfortable under AJ's scrutiny, Nathaniel first focuses on removing the offensive seasoning, then, when AJ still hasn't budged, takes out his phone and aimlessly scrolls through emails. He half-considers texting Rebecca to tell her how ridiculous her employee is being, but he has the sinking feeling that despite the companionable hours they've been spending together recently for the community theater show, she would probably still take AJ's side in this strange semi-argument. At the very least he's certain that she would tattle on him to AJ, and he can't stomach the idea of setting himself up as the punchline of a shared joke between Rebecca and basically anyone she knows.

"Okay," AJ says abruptly, startling Nathaniel out of his reverie, "I think I've got it."

Nathaniel sets his phone down, smiling politely, eager to reclaim his morning for himself. "Fantastic. Let's hear it."

AJ's smile would put the Cheshire Cat to shame. "Anonymous benefactor."

"Excuse me?"

"That's it," AJ proclaims, practically preening. "That's the trope you're doing. The anonymous benefactor who single-handedly saves the failing business of the person they love, who then reveals themselves at the climax and acts all abashed about it like it's not some white savior hedge fund crap, because really it was all about your pure and true love." Nathaniel opens his mouth to protest, but AJ keeps going, unfazed. "It's not bad. I appreciate the part where your weird altruism is directly responsible for my continued employment. But you should know that coming in once a day and buying the cheapest pretzel and a coffee is really not gonna make a dent in Rebecca's books."

"What's wrong with Rebecca's books?" Nathaniel blurts out seconds before realizing he's fallen neatly into AJ's trap.

"So tragic," AJ says, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. "You, I mean. Not the books. The books are only semi-tragic. Especially in comparison." He practically glides back behind the counter, glancing over his shoulder as he disappears into the kitchen. "Consider buying a t-shirt. Or thirty. And by the way, Rebecca should be in around noon."


End file.
